The Italian Reverie
by shipperatheartrealistbynature
Summary: Romance/UST. At the end of a case in Italy, Booth and Brennan decide that for one evening, they should make the most of what the country has to offer. Spoilers/timeline: up to and including Mummy in the Maze. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Italian Reverie 1/

**Spoilers/Timeline: **set in early season 3, not long after Mummy in the Maze

**Summary: **At the end of a case in Italy, Booth and Brennan decide that for one evening, they should make the most of what the country has to offer.

**Notes: **During the course of season 3 rumors began to surface about a possible episode abroad, with Spain, Monaco and Italy initially mentioned as possibilities.

The last one stuck in my mind, being the land of sun, wine, food and well…_romance_; the kind that seems very unBrennan&Boothlike. But that's precisely the kind of old-fashioned romancing – not OOC but with _just _a little bit more sugar than usual – you'll find in this story (so if you're not into that, now is the time to bail). It's also why I called this fluff bunny a reverie. Too bad the show was dumb enough to settle for London ;-) (no offense to my British friends) when they could have had _this_…

Ali (The Artist Formerly Known As ForAReason83 ;-p), I am in awe of you. You picked up a halfway decent story and then blew my mind with how much better it could be. I'm still learning about writing, thanks to your mad beta skillz. Plus: tons of fun discussing RapMasterQueen!Brennan. Thank you!

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****Chapter 1**

Brennan and Booth were in a surprisingly good mood for two partners who had worked almost around the clock for three long days. No mean feat either, considering the jet lag they had under their belts from the transatlantic flight to get there.

But arresting their suspect on Italian soil much faster than anticipated, and even wheedling a confession out of him against all odds, did wonders for their spirits.

Their suspect was taken away to a holding cell, and their case was pretty much closed. All that was left to do now was let the lawyers argue over which country got to try him for multiple counts of murder committed in two different countries.

They were standing, a little forlornly, pondering what to do now. Acting on impulse, Brennan pulled Booth aside from the bustle of the Italian federal police bullpen and said, smiling, "I have a proposition for you."

The opportunity was too good for him to pass up.

"Really? You're propositioning me? Don't you want to do that somewhere more _private_?"

He grinned impishly, raised his eyebrows, and made a big production of whispering the word 'private' to underline the double entendre, but she was unfazed.

With a pointed look, she crossed her arms in front of her and asked, "Do you want to hear this or not?"

He conceded and cocked his head to indicate that she had his full attention.

She paused a little longer to punish him for his antics.

"I would say we're about done here and our flight doesn't leave until late tomorrow morning, so we basically have the whole night to ourselves. Since this is the first time you're in Italy and we've been so busy that we haven't really had time to enjoy this continental field trip, I have a suggestion to make."

"Fire away."

"Why don't I find us a nice restaurant so you can enjoy the excellent cuisine this country has to offer, because it would be a real shame to leave Italy again without ever having tasted such good food. Dinner is on me. What do you say?"

"Are you serious?"

She tried to play it cool at first, a little unsure of herself after his question. "Yeah, if you're down with that."

But then she couldn't contain her enthusiasm anymore and coaxed, smiling, "Come on, it'll be nice."

It was wildly amusing to hear her use young, urban, African-American argot like that, but he tried not to laugh at her word choice because she might not see the irony. He settled for a grin.

"How can I say no when you use a slang expression correctly for once?"

They shared a warm smile.

He started tugging on his tie. "Just one favor?"

"I've been wearing a tie in this blistering sun for three days now and I'm completely fed up with it, so if you could pick out a restaurant that's not _too_ fancy that I don't have to wear a tie, I would be extremely appreciative."

She had to shake off a few disturbingly lewd and highly distracting images of his demonstrating that appreciation. Damn Italian sun did more than just make _Booth_ hot…

"I don't know how you can wear one of those things all day, anyway." She fingered the colorful silk strip, looking thoughtful.

His hot breath ghosted across her lips and slid over her cheeks. She felt his ribcage rise and fall hard, his chest warm as her knuckles grazed the cotton shirt underneath.

"What? A tie?" A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Yes. It must feel like someone is trying to strangle you all day."

She stood so close to him that she had to roll her eyes down to look at it. When she raised her eyes back up to look at him, she saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and then wet his lips.

"Weeeell, it's like being around you, Bones. It's a pain in the ass, but you get used to it."

She let the tie slip from her fingers, yanking on it once for effect, and punched his arm, feigning indignation.

"Ow!" He cradled the besieged area protectively.

"If I were you I wouldn't hurt my chances with this dinner offer for tonight. That is, if you still want to go?" she said. Trying to pique him.

"Of course I do," he replied incredulously, still rubbing his arm.

She softened a little. "Settled then."

"Satisfied?"

_Not yet, but the night is still young…_

Disquieted by the second inappropriate train of thought in as many minutes, she exhaled quickly and rushed out her answer.

"Very."

Shifting smoothly into his all-business tone, he said, "Listen. I'm not _completely_ done here, just a few loose ends and paperwork to tie up with the Italian police. The Interpol liaison will help me with that, so you don't have to stick around. We can write the report back in DC. So why don't you go back to the hotel, relax and take your time getting packed, maybe pick up a few really awful souvenirs for your undoubtedly envious squints, and I'll be done in about an hour or so."

The prospect of wandering around a strange city in a foreign country always appealed to her. But so did a little relaxing before they went home. They had been on quite a hectic schedule since they had gotten there, on top of the jetlag. Now that the case was over it would be nice to relax a little, treat themselves to a nice evening. Lord knows they deserved it.

"A bath sounds wonderful, too," she added pensively.

"Walk on the wild side," he said in what was intended as mild teasing. He suppressed thoughts of her in that bathtub covered in nothing but bubbles, because that would _definitely_ not be conducive to business.

When she frowned, he quickly added, "I'm kidding. Whatever you want to do."

He placed a hand on her upper arm in reassurance. "You're right, we should make the most of it now that we have some free time."

She beamed at him in agreement. "See you back at the hotel?"

"Yup."

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_Continued in chapter 2_

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	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** The Italian Reverie 2/

**Spoilers/Timeline: **set in early season 3, not long after Mummy in the Maze

**Summary: **At the end of a case in Italy, Booth and Brennan decide that for one evening, they should make the most of what the country has to offer. Chapter 2: in which Brennan second-guesses herself, and providence supplies her with an unexpected find.

**Note: **This turned out rather short, because LJ made me split up the first chapter into what is now chapter 1 and 2.

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**Chapter 2**

**_L'oro di Napoli_**

**_._**

Exiting the building of the _Polizia del Stato_ onto the bustling sidewalk and into the brilliant sunlight she planted her sunglasses firmly on the bridge of her nose and scanned around.

After three days in the city she was aware that the part of town that was now to her left offered the best opportunities for a little shopping expedition. Thankfully, it was in the same direction as the hotel.

Turning left and right occasionally, she winded through the crowded streets in the _Quartieri Spagnoli_, littered with shops, restaurants, businesses, small _trattorias _and espresso bars.

Along the way she picked up an art book featuring the great Italian painters of the Renaissance for Angela, and a stylish Italian silk tie for Zack, formerly her assistant, who had cleaned up his wardrobe since being minted as a forensic anthropologist.

She already had a special surprise for Hodgins: a very rare sample of _Rhyniognatha_, the world's oldest known insect, 400 million years old.

The Italian medical examiner had introduced her to _his_ 'bug and slime guy', _Dottore_ Filippo Silvestri, who remembered Jack Hodgins from a conference and liked him, so as a special favor for his friend he had arranged that the Jeffersonian could loan the special sample for a month from the natural history museum where Silvestri worked. Silvestri had assured her that Hodgins would be extremely pleased with her gift—even if it had to be returned eventually.

Naples was renowned for its excellently crafted leather goods, and she also found a perfect addition to Booth's collection of 'cocky' belts, for his upcoming birthday.

A foray into a _profumerie_ for a generous supply of luscious scented soaps, candles and bath oils and into a delicatessen shop for a bag of gourmet coffee beans, _biscotti _and the kind of high-quality olive oil you could only get in Italy, rounded up her errands. She'd clean out the store but for more time and more room in her suitcase.

It was time to get going if she wanted to have enough time left for that bath. So she set out on a determined course towards the hotel, passing shop windows without paying much attention.

Until a flash of color suddenly caught her attention and made her stop in her tracks when she was already several feet past the store. It made her double back to where she had seen it.

It was a lovely, light, airy dress, somewhere between a sundress and a cocktail dress, with a pretty, ruffled neckline and a flaring knee-length skirt. It had a cut that she was sure would cling to her figure in a very aesthetically pleasing way, and a whimsical pattern with hues of green that would compliment her fair skin nicely.

She eyed it cautiously while she mulled over conflicting thoughts.

She had packed only sensible clothes because this was supposed to be a business trip. But tonight they were off-duty, going out to have dinner, and it seemed more appropriate to wear something nice. Certainly, the dress was tailored to show off the female form, but it wasn't as if the dress was such that it would be considered inappropriate for a meal with a colleague.

On the other hand an uneasy feeling licked at the back of her mind occasionally since she had suggested going out for dinner tonight. It was strengthened when she found herself considering buying a dress that one would wear on a…date; she certainly hadn't meant to give off that signal. But she couldn't help but wonder if her invitation might be construed as such; more precisely, if Booth might have.

Notwithstanding all of that, she was sure she would look good in a dress like that, on another occasion if not this one, so maybe she should buy it anyway.

And though it wasn't cheap the quality was patently visible, and didn't she just receive a generous royalty check? She wouldn't feel bad about splurging on this dress. But her suitcase wasn't infinitely expandable, so with her other shopping she couldn't possibly fit in this dress and another new outfit for tonight. Tough choice.

Well, what else could she wear tonight anyway, and how would she find it on such short notice? There certainly wasn't any harm in trying it on, was there? And if she did buy it and wear it for tonight, what was the worst that could happen?

With renewed confidence after having settled that internal debate she stepped into the store, trying to explain to the saleswoman in flawed but understandable Italian that she wanted to try on the dress in the window and struggling to find the right size in the European table of sizes.

When she returned to the hotel with her spoils she headed straight to the reception desk to ask the concierge at the hotel for advice on a good restaurant and arranging reservations. After that, all that was left to do was pack up her suitcase, take a good long soak in a hot bath and change clothes.

After her bath, hopefully, she would feel a little more ready for tonight's events. She had proposed this evening out together, wanting to…well, wanting _what_, really? For all her over-thinking things, at times like these it was her impulsiveness she cursed; her propensity to go after something she wanted before thinking the consequences through properly.

Despite the irrationality of the notion, she was starting to think Italy was doing something to her. Being in Italy seemed to make her hyper-aware of her partner's proximity and his physicality; it seemed to make her have increasingly unsettling and unpartnerlike thoughts about him. She hadn't stopped to think about that when she proposed to have dinner and spend the entire evening together, _in close proximity_.

She resolved to utilize the next half hour, luxuriating in warm, fragrant water, to rest her body and bring her mind at ease. Hm, maybe she would be more relaxed if she just let her fingers drift underneath the bubbles, down her thighs, and… _NO!_ No. No, that would be an extremely bad idea.

Because then her thoughts would inevitably drift back to that same afternoon and the feel of his hard body, pressed up against hers in that interrogation room, when he impulsively grabbed her for an elated hug after their suspect confessed.

That she had felt the impulse to mold her hips up close to his, probing for evidence that his cocky belt buckle was warranted, should have been disconcerting enough. But that she was only a few very thin strands of willpower away from actually doing it was – at least in hindsight – quite shocking. If she started thinking about him_ –_ like _that –_ while she touched herself, it would only make it harder for her to relax tonight at dinner. So, strictly chastity in the bathtub, both in body and mind. Compartmentalization was her forte, after all.

With the way being in Italy was affecting her so far, she had to stay focused tonight. As long as she stayed in control of herself and her irrational, irreverent hormones, Booth wouldn't be able to affect her the way he had in the last few days. It was ridiculous, really. And it was enough. She wasn't a schoolgirl, but an adult, and a consummate professional.

Tomorrow night they would be back home and things would return to normal, and Italy would be in her memory as a successful international assignment, with nothing more dangerous than just a few harmless carnal thoughts.

Or would Italy become her Waterloo?

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_TBC_

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	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** The Italian Reverie 3/

**Spoilers/Timeline: **set in early season 3, not long after Mummy in the Maze

**Summary: **At the end of a case in Italy, Booth and Brennan decide that for one evening, they should make the most of what the country has to offer. Chapter 3: in which Booth gets to see Brennan in that dress.

**Notes: **For a link to sumptuous pics of the hotel described in this chapter, which actually exists, go to my profile (because ff screws up URL's in the story), where you can also find links to two pictures of how I imagined them looking on their date-yet-not-a-date-yet-conspicuously-date-like-dinner – look at teh pretty!

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**Chapter 3**

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**L'Avventura**

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The hour Booth had thought he would need quickly turned into three, because he had once again underestimated the Italian administrative process. To say that snails could run a marathon faster was putting it nicely. He had been fuming more than once, sullenly swallowing a storm of colorful expletives because he knew it would only make things worse.

When Booth started walking back to the hotel just after six thirty he realized he wouldn't have all that much time left to change and groom before it was time to go the restaurant, so he was already planning what he needed to do to get ready for his date with Bo-

Wait, what? Date? Of course not. Dinner. Just dinner. She had proposed to go out to have dinner, that was all. Just because he planned to shower, change into a nice suit, shave and put on cologne didn't make it a date.

***

The Hotel _San Franceso al Monte_ was only half a mile from the police headquarters, and almost immediately after he left it he saw the hotel's characteristic white façade littered with small windows rise up above the houses in front of him.

The former monastery lay at the foot of the mound of volcanic rock occupied by the impressive medieval fortress _Castel Sant'Elmo_, that could be seen from almost anywhere in the city, and the magnificent _Museo e Certosa di San Marino,_ also a former monastery and now a museum.

The hotel had a gorgeous roof terrace on the hillside. If he didn't find it breathtakingly charming already, Booth had been completely enamored with the hotel when he discovered a small path leading from the rooftop terrace up the hillside to a vineyard with grapes and fruit trees and a wine bar surrounded by vines and trees. If he ever went on a honeymoon, he would spend it here, he decided right then and there.

The roof terrace even boasted a swimming pool. Before their long and hectic day began, they had been taking a half hour to go for a daily swim in the early morning, while the sun was still rising above the gulf suffusing everything with the warmest, most saturated orange glow he'd ever seen.

Their daily swim routine would include a friendly race and both partners dutifully pretending not to ogle each other's toned form in a bathing suit.

After their swim, they would don terrycloth robes and sit down for a simple breakfast with the best cappuccino he'd ever tasted, enjoying the 360-degree panorama of the historic city, the surrounding hills and the gulf of Naples with its fishing boats gathering the catch of the day.

It had been tempting to picture himself abandoning his life of crime fighting and starting his days like this for the rest of his life.

Reality settled in quickly of course as soon as they arrived at police headquarters for the daily briefing at 8 AM. Not knowing how long it would take to find the missing pieces of evidence, identify their suspect and arrest him, they invested long hours into the investigation.

Booth and the Interpol liaison had worked with the Italian police to piece together the evidence and information they had both accumulated, while Brennan worked with the Italian medical examiner to compare their forensic findings. She also drove their interpreter crazy by making him pick a fight with the Italian police about whether or not to allow her to go with them into the field. He could have told them to save themselves the trouble; Bones would have gotten her way no matter what.

It was an unexpected surprise to solve the case so quickly. When he booked the tickets he had expected to need at least a week, so the first thing he did after their suspect cracked – no, the _very first_ thing was an impromptu celebratory hug with Bones, that he was not entirely sure was appropriate and certainly raised a lot of Italian eyebrows. But the first thing he did after that was to call the airline to reschedule their return flight.

It had been no easy feat, especially since he couldn't use his charm smile over the phone, but with a little shameless flirting and finagling, he'd eventually managed to book them on a flight home the next morning instead of four days from now. Not that a little vacation time would hurt him, but he couldn't really afford it on his own dollar.

Although Bones wouldn't hesitate to pick up the tab for that either, and lord knows she could easily afford it with her seven-figures-and-a-prime-numbers book deals, but he drew the line at indulging her just this once if she wanted to treat him to dinner. So tonight would be his mini-vacation; a night out on the town.

He wasn't particularly excited about it earlier this afternoon, mostly because he was exhausted. But now, a quick shower and shave later, and dressed in his summer suit with a crisp fresh shirt and _no tie_ – hallelujah! – he found that the hard work and fatigue of the past few days and the afternoon's aggravations had drained away completely; he felt refreshed and energized, and was looking forward to this evening more than he probably should.

If only Bones were as ready for it as he was. He'd knocked three times already, in between worried glances at his watch, and even though she had answered him – through the door – each time, there was still no sign of said door opening and said Bones appearing out of it.

He knocked on the door again, unabashedly channeling his impatience into the wood this time.

"Bones?"

"Just a minute!"

"Are you ready to go? Didn't you say you made a reservation for eight o'clock?"

"Hang on, I'll be right there."

"We'd better take the car if we want to make that reservation in time." His body began unconsciously straining towards the elevator, as if that would somehow hasten the journey to it once she came out.

"Let's take a cab and then neither of us has to be the designated driver." Still talking through the door.

"Fine. Just come on out of there already," he prompted urgently.

When she finally did, his feet refused to move. One look at her dress made his haste vanish.

He was enough of a connoisseur of the female form, and this one in particular, to take note of the details in a second: the vibrant color of the dress, the way it complimented her skin, the hint of cleavage, the way it clung lovingly to every curve and the rustle of the fabric against her long, smooth legs, and this was when he realized it was starting to become inappropriate to take more time to look.

"You look…nice. Actually, you look better than nice, you look…." he stuttered.

_Haven't we been here before?_

His once-over – or twice-over – didn't go unnoticed, but she was glad to have the time and the opportunity to do the same.

His stylish, light, tan jacket, the way the crisp light-blue dress shirt complimented the bronze tint he had acquired over the last few days, how its form-fitting cut stretched over his well-toned torso, the way the open collar on his shirt drew her attention to the honey-gold spot in the hollow of his throat where she'd like to dip her tongue in one of these days and….

"Let's go then," she said on a rush of breath.

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TBC

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	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** The Italian Reverie 4/

**Spoilers/Timeline: **set in early season 3, not long after Mummy in the Maze

**Summary: **At the end of a case in Italy, Booth and Brennan decide that for one evening, they should make the most of what the country has to offer. Chapter 4: in which the evening is already starting to affect Booth (Booth POV).

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**Chapter 4**

**Pane, Amore e Fantasia**

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Just a few minutes after eight, after a kamikaze cab ride, they stepped out of the car and onto the curb in front of _Caruso_, named after the famed Italian opera singer, whom they had discovered to be widely revered in his native town of Naples.

The taxi driver had chosen a winding route down the hillside, in a wide loop to avoid the narrow streets in the historic center, choosing the longer but faster broad avenues and even taking them along the seaside for almost a mile.

Keeping the pedal floored, the driver gesticulated profusely – dangerously – while he repeatedly and ardently advertised the scenic seaside road as "_Lungomare! Lungomare!_"

They had the seashore on one hand with gentles waves cresting bright white under the moon in the dark of night, and a gorgeous park, crowded with people taking a stroll, and palm trees on their left hand. The two partners had only needed to exchange brief glances and smiles to convey their shared appreciation for it, and Booth had found himself fighting the urge to cover her knee with his hand.

Now they entered the restaurant's terrace through an arched rose arbor and right away Booth found himself very pleased with the restaurant that his partner had picked out: it was lovely and very Italian and under any other circumstances he would have gone so far as to call it romantic.

It had bistro tables, checked table clothes, candles, an elegant waist-high cast-iron fence surrounding it with lush climbing plants and flowers trained across it, and to complete the picture, multicolor plastic ball string lights were being guided along the cross-beamed trellis that stood along the length of the fence.

There was a stucco building at the far end for indoor dining, but everyone seemed to be – and rightly so – sitting outside on the sprawling terrace.

They were both equally surprised by and taken with their surroundings, still standing at the entrance, when a very Italian-looking waiter approached them; a fiftyish man with olive skin, jet-black hair, a moustache, classic black and white waiter uniform stretching over a belly that betrayed a taste for the good life.

_"Benvenuto. Buona sera. Come stai?"_ he said with too much affectation and too much teeth for Booth's liking.

But Brennan graced the waiter with the most dazzling smile he'd seen in a long time.

_"Benissimo, grazie. E voi?"_ she answered, with an audible accent but otherwise fluently. And with charm. Devastating charm.

Booth was floored. She nearly blushed, his fearless Bones, and she was absolutely fucking radiant, while he stood there like a dolt and gaped at her, unable to grasp what it was about the Italian language that made women swoon – even his uber-rational, unflappable Bones. An Italian could be telling a woman how ugly her mother is and that he'd kill her after dinner for all she knew, but any woman fawned over it inexplicably, without exception.

She beamed at the waiter with a billion watt smile, as if he'd just told her she was the center of the fucking universe – when all he'd said to her was 'good evening' and 'how are you?'.

The only thing he _could_ grasp right now was that he had to learn a couple of Italian sentences _pronto_, because he wanted to see that smile and that look in her eyes again, and he wanted to be the one to make it happen, not some slick-ass Italian waiter who didn't even know her.

_"Bene, bene. Mi chiamo Giancarlo, vostro cameriere. Siette gli Americani, no? La Dottoressa Brennan e Agente Speciale Booth. __Piacere di conoscerti." _

Booth looked at Brennan, flummoxed. What? Their reputation preceded them now? Even across the Atlantic?

But her reassuring smile told him it was merely because the concierge at the hotel had made the reservation in both their names. The concierge had perhaps even mentioned the stunning beauty of the American doctor slash famous author, and how many people could reasonably be expected to walk in tonight greeting the waiter with an American accent?

The waiter guided them to a table on the right side, right next to the fence. It had to be one of the best tables in the house, because it offered the most spectacular view of the bay; across the water the volcano Mount Vesuvius, with the ruins of the ancient cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum at its base; and the historic city sprawling up the hills on the other side.

When Giancarlo the waiter pulled out a chair and then guided Brennan to it by putting his hand on the small of her back – _his_ rightful place – Booth had to bite his tongue. Then he laughed at his own possessiveness.

The waiter poured ice water and left them with menus and an order for a bottle of _Lacryma Christi del Vesuvio_, after Brennan had wheedled the tale out of him of how the local wine got its name. She had visibly enjoyed translating for Booth – without any religious jeers – what Giancarlo told her about the old myth that Christ, crying over Lucifer's fall from heaven, cried his tears on the land around Mount Vesuvius and gave divine inspiration to the vines that grew there.

Booth frowned and scrunched up his nose when he opened the leather folder in his hands. "The menu's in Italian." He took a sip of his water.

"I'm impressed you recognize the language," she remarked dryly. She didn't look up from her menu, but the tiniest movement of her upper lip betrayed that she was baiting him intentionally.

_You brat._ "Don't get smart with me. I mean it's not in English."

"That's a good thing, trust me."

"It's not, because now I don't know what I'm gonna be eating." He took several big gulps of water, trying to swallow down his frustration. "And why is it a good thing anyway?"

Never taking her eyes off the menu, she calmly explained, "Because that means this isn't one of those tourist traps that the harbor is littered with – easily recognized by their menus in English – but an authentic restaurant."

He stared blankly for a moment, trying to process this – and why her lips looked so much softer in the glow of the candle between them.

She sought his eyes over the edge of the menu and smiled in encouragement. "I'll help you with the menu. What are you in the mood for?"

_You._

He nearly shot water out of his nose at his own thought. _Mother of- what did they put in the water here?_

He coughed and muttered, "Something light."

His throat had become awfully dry, so he leaned forward and picked up the half-emptied tumbler of water once more, swirling the liquid around before knocking back what remained in one go.

Giancarlo the waiter saved him further embarrassment by bringing the bottle of wine they'd ordered and, in what Bones would undoubtedly deem an 'antiquated ritual', poured a small measure into the glass in front of the man at the table so he could approve the wine.

But with a flick of his hand, Booth extended that privilege – her tab after all – to his partner, who seemed to be pleased with his gesture if her wide smile was anything to go by. She probably had a more refined taste than him anyway.

She sipped the wine, let it roll around her mouth and over her tongue, and then gave a brief and earnest nod, signaling her approval to fill their glasses to the slightly discombobulated waiter. The latter was even more in a state when she even took it upon herself to order for the both of them, and left the table with a sympathetic glance at Booth, as if lamenting his perceived emasculation.

Booth grinned to himself, but Brennan demanded to be let in on the joke, seeming just a little bit concerned that she was being laughed at.

"I'm not laughing at you, Bones, if that's what you're worried about. If anyone, I was laughing at our waiter here, Giancarlo. I'm afraid you've offended his Old World sensibilities with that display of women's emancipation." His smile throughout underlined his own sense of humor about it.

Her smile grew wider and she raised her glass at him. "Well, never let it be said that I don't appreciate a man who is secure enough in his manhood that he's not intimidated by a little gender role reversal," she said, sly but meaning it.

He let his glass gently kiss hers with a soft clink. "Hear, hear. And to the unexpected pleasure of dining with a beautiful and intelligent dinner companion."

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** The Italian Reverie 5

**Spoilers/Timeline: **set in early season 3, not long after Mummy in the Maze

**Genre: **Romance/UST

**Summary: **At the end of a case in Italy, Booth and Brennan decide that for one evening, they should make the most of what the country has to offer. Chapter 5: in which Booth becomes completely smitten over dinner (Booth POV).

**Music:** Caramel – Suzanne Vega, _"It's about something sweet that you would like to have, but you know you shouldn't have it."_

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**Chapter 5**

**La Dolce Vita**

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_Previously:_

He let his glass gently kiss hers with a soft clink. "Hear, hear. And to the unexpected pleasure of dining with a beautiful and intelligent dinner companion."

***

Coincidentally, they both wondered if they'd stepped perhaps the tiniest bit out of line in their toasts as they tacitly enjoyed the earthly taste of the garnet 'Tears of Christ' wine, savoring its red fruit, cinnamon and apple flavors.

While they were both momentarily at a loss for conversation in the dusk of the summer evening, they absorbed the atmosphere: the din of unintelligible but clearly animated Italian everywhere – masking their own lack of conversation – of mostly couples dining, interspersed with small groups of friends drinking wine and conversing.

The sunset splashed them in a luscious purple and orange glow, and the rich cloud of music that filled the air and settled on them like a blanket. A modest musical ensemble – an acoustic guitar, mandolin, clarinet, accordion, and a short-statured fellow plucking a giant double bass – alternated between jazzy and gypsy, buttery or silky, wistful and vivacious songs, sung by an old but still smooth-voiced man.

Conversation was on no one's mind while the old man sailed through a silky old-fashioned rendition of _Parlami d'Amore, Mariù_, a gravelly delivered Paolo Conte standard and the inevitable Neapolitan tarantella.

While the tarantella drew to a closing climax and they joined everyone in applause, Booth was suddenly hit by the awareness of how surreal it all was, being here with her, like this. He turned to look at his partner, and a few seconds later she dragged herself away from the music as well and met his inquisitive eyes with her sparkling ones.

He allowed himself to watch her for a moment, study her face, concentrate on her. The dim light softened the curves of her cheekbones, jaw, chin, making her face, her mouth look just a touch more...

She hadn't dropped her eyes since his gaze had settled on her like a vise but now she cast down her eyelids, an awkward smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Booth, you're staring at me," she reproached mildly.

"Sorry," he said, voice more croaking than he'd like it to. He looked around the terrace but couldn't glean all of it in the quickly settling dusk.

"Why were you staring at me?" she inquired, seriously.

"Nothing. You just look like you belong here," he mused, fingering the stem of his wineglass.

She seemed genuinely pleased by his observation. "So do you, you could easily pass for Italian."

He grimaced. "I'm not sure that's a good thing." His fingers tightened around the stem to lift the wineglass to his lips for a sip.

'Why?" she asked, honestly curious.

"Italians are a bit too charming for my liking, if you know what I mean."

He found her unreserved laugh at that delightful.

"You've got plenty of charm yourself. You sure there isn't any Italian blood in your heritage?" she teased, head cocked to the side.

He would have told her all about the purity of his Irish lineage if his mind hadn't gotten stuck on her bashfully delivered compliment.

He'd never felt so played before. And inordinately flattered, too. He threatened to blush like a schoolboy, like he used to when the teacher he had a crush on said something Extra Nice to him.

"Yeah, okay, okay," he muttered in surrender. Now who was being bashful?

And he was sure that a Temperance Brennan with her mind set on seducing a man would be a force to be reckoned with.

"It's a good thing, trust me," she assured him, smiling sincerely and speaking in a soft, caressing tone that made his heart speed up a little.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were flirting with me," he teased in an attempt to regain the upper hand.

"I don't flirt," she quipped decidedly.

And again Giancarlo saved him from being at a loss for an appropriate comeback – the man deserved a decent tip after all – by bringing the appetizer Brennan had picked out for them: a simple_ insalata caprese_; only with the smoothest, creamiest _mozzarella di bufala_ that ever graced his tongue.

For a _primo_, the first course in a traditional Italian meal, a plate of string pasta was put in front of him introduced as _linguini di cozze_, containing the freshest mussels he could ever hope to taste, while Brennan had seafood risotto.

Giancarlo brought over another bottle of wine and his _secondo_: _spigola all'aqua pazza_, which – after a questioning look at his partner – turned out to be sea bass, poached in fish broth – Neapolitan style. Something light, precisely as he'd asked. It was probably still swimming this morning – and not in fish broth, as it did now. Brennan had something on her plate even Booth recognized: chicken _alla cacciatore_, braised with tomatoes, onions, bell peppers, mushrooms and herbs.

Booth was surprised how easy it was to keep their animated conversation going all through dinner, even though they barely touched any work-related subjects – except to recount the occasional anecdote from when they first started working together.

Hard to believe it had been three years already since they first started out as 'that insufferable Squint' and 'that Jerk from the Federal Bureau of Irritating'.

Who knew that from the desert soil of antagonism a partnership like this could blossom? And even more than that. A friendship. A family.

Gradually, he'd managed to see beyond the first impression of stunning IQ wrapped in stunning beauty – and stunning ability to drive him bat-shit crazy.

He'd learned to respect and value her unique characteristics, her dedication, her strength, her loyalty, her vulnerability when she let him see it, and even appreciate her quirky personality traits. He found she could truly be a joy to spend time with once she let her guard down.

Tonight, to his delight, they seemed to be just Seeley and Temperance: a man, and a woman, enjoying truly sensational food…and each other – and each other's _food_, by exchanging bites across the table to share the delicious flavors all throughout dinner.

Booth thought the meal was done when the waiter brought over a plate of _Formaggio e frutta_ but after he'd gorged on _Pecorino_ cheese, _gorgonzola_ and, as Giancarlo proudly recounted, the local specialty of _Caciocavallo_, Giancarlo returned and schmoozed with his partner, who looked somewhat tormented.

Worried, he asked, "Bones? What's wrong?"

She diverted her attention from Giancarlo to Booth and seemed surprised that he'd be worried at all. "Nothing. Giancarlo was just asking me if he should bring us the _dolce_ menu, the sweet desserts."

_There were two courses of desserts? _God, Italians knew how to eat! No wonder Giancarlo had a paunch.

She shook her head. "We probably shouldn't…"

Something in the way she trailed off and bit her lip after she said it prompted Booth to take over the lead and nod at Giancarlo, who seemed to be more respectful of him instantly, somewhat to Booth's chagrin.

But he'd obviously pleased Bones – and very few things pleased _him_ more than that. The way her eyes sparkled with glee and her impish smile reminded him of children who, having done something _naughty_, were sharing their exhilarating secret.

It made his heart swell a little to see her smiling at him like that – and partly because of his doing. Because he gave her the alibi to indulge in something sweet that she clearly wanted to have, even if she thought she shouldn't have it. And it wasn't as if she couldn't suffer an extra pound; not that said pound would even manage to stick if it tried, with her rigorous exercise regimen

He tried to put her conscience at ease. "What the heck, Bones. How often do we get to stuff our faces with real Italian food, huh? We should sample all the good stuff, right? Besides, you only live once." He resisted the impulse to make a James Bond joke she wouldn't get, raised his glass at her again, downed the remaining wine and refilled it.

He was on his fourth – fifth? – glass of wine. He wasn't drunk, not by far, but it was enough alcohol to warm his insides and have him pleasantly buzzed.

Keeping with her theme of choosing traditional Neapolitan dishes and acknowledging his inclination for pie, she recommended he try the _pastiera napoletana_, the local pie filled with ricotta cheese, flavored with orange blossom, while she couldn't resist the tiramisu. And Booth couldn't resist the flitting thought that his female dinner companion ordering tiramisu, back when he was still dating a lot, used to foretell how very pleasant the evening would end.

They were nursing their second limoncello liqueur and second cup of after dinner coffee – because the Neapolitans were masters of transforming the beans into a work of art — when Booth again began contemplating the subject of evenings and their endings: That this evening was ending much faster than he'd like it to.

But inevitably, the moment came when it was time to take care of the check and leave. He was shocked to find it almost midnight. Brennan took her time thanking Giancarlo, and he was all smiles as he returned her graceful farewell. Then he sent her off with an honest-to-god hand kiss that had her blushing like a schoolgirl and something hastily scribbled on a napkin.

The sea breeze was salty and crisp, but it wasn't cold out. Nevertheless, Booth checked to see if Brennan wasn't chilly in her dress without a cardigan or jacket to cover herself with. On the upside, at the slightest hint of a shiver, he could be a gentleman and offer her his jacket.

"What do you want to do now?" he asked.

"I don't know. There are a lot of things we could do."

Hm-mm. There really were.

"You decide how you want this evening to end, Bones."

The different layers of their exchange hung between them for a few beats.

"You want to go back to the hotel?"

He waited patiently while she fidgeted, fingering the folded napkin in her fingers.

"I think we should go back to the hotel. We have a flight tomorrow morning, and we'll be a mess when we get home if we don't get some sleep."

She chewed on her lower lip again, a nervous tic she rarely displayed, and it told him she didn't want the evening to end any more than he did, which he found very comforting.

"Okay." He scanned around the busy street, fighting back his disappointment that the evening would nevertheless end soon. "I'll flag a taxi."

"Wait!" Her hand shot out and restrained his arm before he could raise it. "We don't have to take a cab."

"It's a pretty long and steep hike back up to the hotel, Bones." He glanced at her three-inch heels.

"I know. I don't mean walk all the way. Just…I thought maybe we could walk part of the way, down to the sea, to that park we passed on the way over here, and then catch a cab from there."

She was almost apprehensive about her request. And yet, Booth had to admit, he found her most endearing at times like these, when the woman who was used to demanding whatever she wanted in her professional capacity went soft-voiced and doe-eyed when asking something, something she likely deemed frivolous, for herself. Something that she obviously didn't realize he would all too gladly indulge her in.

Frowning a little, she cleared her throat and added matter-of-factly, "A stroll after dinner has been scientifically proven to be beneficial to digestion."

The napkin in her hands unfolded a little in the breeze and turned out to be a haphazard map and directions from the restaurant to the park. So that's what she and Giancarlo had been schmoozing about.

He smiled fondly at the return of his treasured squint speak. And the subterfuge. Anyway, she had him at 'wait.'

"Bones, if you want to take a walk with me, all you have to do is ask." He looked at her with twinkling eyes.

"Well, if you're up for the exercise after that meal…"

.

_TBC_

_._


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** The Italian Reverie 6

**Spoilers/Timeline: **set in early season 3, not long after Mummy in the Maze

**Genre: **Romance/UST

**Summary: **At the end of a case in Italy, Booth and Brennan decide that for one evening, they should make the most of what the country has to offer. Chapter 6: in which two partners take a stroll under the moonlight. Gotta wonder if that's as romantic as it sounds…

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Chapter 6**

**Una Giornata Particolare**

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The park was really only a stone's throw from the restaurant, downhill toward the sea.

On their way there, they were quiet at first, winding down from the intensity of their dinner, as they traipsed downhill through narrow old bystreets and alleyways. Booth's hand shot out in a lightning-fast reflex at one point to catch her elbow – and her – when her heel got caught between the cobblestones and she nearly went head over feet.

His hand lingered, warm around the crook of her elbow. Goosebumps erupted on her skin, radiating outward from where his fingers curled around her.

"As flattering as it is to see a woman fall for me," he paused for effect, "I'd rather it be in a manner of speaking and not literally."

His eyes twinkled with joy and for once she got the joke and she graced him with that brilliant smile again, and life was _good_.

Another hundred feet down they reached a wide well-lit avenue that opened up a brilliant vista. The Gulf of Naples stretched out before them like a framed panorama straight out of National Geographic, and as they walked towards it, it seemed almost as if they could embrace it if they just opened their arms wide enough.

When they reached the park they'd passed in the taxi earlier he finally realized where they were. The _Villa Communale _was the city's most prominent park, and at this time of night it was filled with late-night strollers, dog walkers and people sauntering around in fancy fads after dinner, indulging in the age-old social custom of "see and be seen." He was sure his partner appreciated the anthropological aspect of that.

He offered his arm then, realizing he was pushing the envelope, and was inordinately pleased – and a little relieved – when she actually took it. They strolled at a leisurely pace, arm in arm, each taking turns to point out the sights – with the occasional inevitable squinty addition of scientific or historic trivia from Bones when it was her turn. Was it the wine or something else that made him amused instead of aggravated by it tonight?

Did the wine also account for how much he enjoyed the thrilling press of her thigh and her side against his own? He drew her near as he walked, content and even a little complacent.

It was no surprise to him that his partner was oblivious to the appreciative glances she was getting – from both sexes, no less – but he felt a surge of pride every time he noticed it, because she was hanging on his arm and no one else's. And there was no doubt in his mind that she wanted to be there.

If she was aware of their close fit, she didn't let on that she was. The awareness of her thigh so snugly against his was… well, it wasn't that her proximity blotted out everything else, but still her body pressed against his own, clad in only the gossamer fabric and exuding her warmth, was enough to make him feel almost giddy.

His eyes lingered here and there, raking over her eyes and mouth, dipping stealthily to the place where the neckline of her tempting dress met the swell of a breast, resting for a moment on the spot where her arm lay on his forearm. Tonight he'd found it increasingly difficult to resist a primitive and hardly justified sense of Bones as 'his' woman, and her physical nearness now didn't help any.

_Eleventh Commandment, Seeley. Thou shalt not covet thy partner. Remember? Get your shit together, buddy. _

They followed the scenic promenade along the sea, which the taxi driver had called 'lungomare.' On one side was a view of the park with its ornate fountains and historic lanterns, seen through the exotic palm trees lining the park.

It was a wonderful spot to linger, sandwiched in between that lovely park scenery and a gorgeous view of the bay, and framed by an obsidian sky littered with stars; their light brilliant without any impediment from the bright lights of an urban region like Washington DC.

While they were leaning over the ornately carved balustrade of a vantage point that protruded towards the sea, he nudged her and joked, "Maybe you should pinch me."

She threw him a look.

"Can you believe we're actually here? All dressed up?"

She offered a half-smile. "I don't know, Booth, that didn't go so well last time."

He smiled at the memory of their recent Halloween adventure, when he was dressed as a nerd and she had on that…that….very skimpy and very distracting Wonder Woman costume. Their plans to attend the Jeffersonian's annual Halloween costume party had been thwarted by a case.

Afterwards they sat down on a flight of stairs at the Jeffersonian, dirt-streaked and tired, and debated still going to the party, Brennan suggesting that they could go as Clark Kent and Wonder Woman after a really bad date. Except, not a date, of course.

"We could be Clark Kent and Wonder Woman after a really_ good_ date."

She had the Look of Logic on her face again. "Well, you're not really dressed as a squint."

He made a point of giving her a once-over, delighting in the possibility of being able to get away with doing it so openly. "Neither are you, baby."

And she hadn't even objected to the 'date' part of his remark.

_***_

Brennan did a double take.

_Ooookay… _Since when were they allowed to use terms of endearment?

Especially that one with its cultural roots of belittling women. Sure, she'd let Hodgins get away with it once or twice, when they were buried underground in that car for one. And Hodgins had been in a state of extreme emotional distress, so she would have forgiven him for pretty much anything he said at that point. Didn't even really count.

"Don't call me baby," she chided primly.

"Is that your way of saying you'll learn to like it eventually?" he shot back.

Unthinkingly, she had chosen the wrong words. Because he was right.

At first she had been adamant that he not call her 'Bones.' She had seen it as a way to assert his dominance, especially when he insisted on using it after she had specifically asked him not to; that made it seem even more like an attempt to establish his superiority over her. And she would fight for their equality tooth and nail.

But gradually, something truly awful had happened.

She started to actually _like_ it.

Liked that he had a name for her that was reserved for nobody but her, that no one else was allowed to use.

Liked the way it rolled of his tongue. It could have been a harsh, deprecating, insensitive epithet uttered by anyone else, but he made it sound almost like…a caress.

She loved the soft smack of his lips as he pouted them to form the B and the way the rest of it tumbled out of his mouth on a breath, especially when he said it very softly. And she couldn't help but wonder sometimes if it was her given name or that name he would utter when he shattered in her arms, if that day would ever come.

But she would sacrifice a limb before she admitted to him that she had begun to enjoy his nickname for her. He would be insufferable forever.

"What I would _like_ is for you to stop yapping so I can admire the stars."

It was thin, obviously. But he let it slide and she quickly talked on before he could change his mind.

She craned her neck up. "Look at this. They're never this bright in Washington, are they?"

He looked at her instead of at the night sky. Like she didn't notice.

"Imagine all those fishermen using these stars to navigate their way home a century ago, instead of with GPS like now. Look, they used Polaris in Little Dipper over there." _Speaking of yapping…_

"You're not gonna give me an astrology lecture are you?" he teased good-naturedly.

"Noooo." Her indignation bordered on petulance, but it transformed to cunning in a flash, as she tried, "But what if I quizzed you?"

"You can do anything you want to me."

The lift of her eyebrows and the playful tone as she repeated, "Anything?" conveyed her amusement at the double entendre.

But he didn't get uncomfortable, didn't fluster, didn't stammer. Just…smiled.

Maybe that was even more worrisome.

***

Booth felt a pang of regret when they their tour around the park was finished, and they ended up where they started: at the _Piazza Vittoria_, where taxis lined the street to pick up the evening crowd. The ones who didn't want the night to end yet to nightclubs, others to their homes and hotels to retire for the evening.

They had to turn the corner to get to the row of taxis.

When she turned the wind caught her hair and blew it in her face. He stealthily observed while she tossed her head to the side a little, so that the breeze could blow the stray locks from her forehead. A few errant strands of soft hair were picked up and fluttered loosely in the air.

Still unaware of his scrutiny, she tilted her chin up a little, letting the breeze caress her cheeks. He could just reach out and drag the back of his finger across her cheek to offer a similar delicate touch. He could. But he couldn't. Didn't?

He was startled when she spoke again.

"Do you remember that you once said to me that when you go on vacation, you think about not coming back and I didn't really understand what you were talking about?"

"Mmhm."

"I think I'm starting to understand that." She was self-conscious, almost coy.

He stared at her for a few moments, trying to fully comprehend what she meant. Layers. There were always layers when Bones made these little confessions. He realized just in time that if he was silent much longer, she'd be extremely uncomfortable and worry that she'd said something ridiculous.

"Me too, Bones. Me too," he muttered.

Appropriate. And true.

_._

_TBC_


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** The Italian Reverie 7/9

**Spoilers/Timeline: **set in early season 3, not long after Mummy in the Maze

**Genre: **Romance/UST

**Summary: **At the end of a case in Italy, Booth and Brennan decide that for one evening, they should make the most of what the country has to offer. Chapter 7: in which the inevitable question arises.

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**Chapter 7**

**Patience, Anticipation, Food…**

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The short taxi ride to the hotel passed in silence; every time she wanted to open her mouth to speak, she stopped herself for fear of saying the wrong thing. She hated this feeling of insecurity, and she hated that no one else made her feel this way. Her growing uneasiness was only fueled by the furtive glances Booth kept throwing her way from the other side of the backseat.

Something curled in the pit of her stomach; equal parts pleasant and uncomfortable. She hadn't had any work associates who looked at her like that, who didn't end up in her bed, or the other way around, faster than she could say phylogenetic systematics.

But Booth had made it crystal clear that their partnership had boundaries, that were not to be crossed. In fact, until recently, she'd been convinced that wouldn't be a problem at all; she was under the impression that, while he'd come to appreciate her as a colleague and considered her a friend, he wasn't the least bit interested in what she might have to offer beyond those boundaries. Recently being: before this evening.

She still wasn't sure if she really was interpreting the situation correctly: a foreign country, an usual setting – at the restaurant, to which she'd contributed by wearing this dress – and a certain amount of alcohol could have easily distorted both his behavior and her own perception of it. Wasn't she reading too much into this?

But if she wasn't, and extrapolating from the hypothesis that the attraction between them was real, not imagined, would it be wise to act on that tonight? She usually leaned more heavily on Booth to make these kinds of assessments, but she didn't think philosophical discourse on that subject would be welcomed right now.

She grew a little agitated as she crossed the hotel lobby alongside him, because she had run out of time to think this through properly. It was just a taxi ride, a hotel lobby and an elevator ride, at the end of which the moment of decision would be right around the corner – literally, as her hotel room door was right around the corner from the elevator bank.

The ping of the elevator as it reached their floor startled her from replaying the evening's movie reel, of all the little moments, the touches, flirtatious words, glances, the things she might have misunderstood…

_Signals, Brennan, focus._

He'd been sending out _those_ signals all evening.

She had been sending out the same kind of signals, she knew.

If she examined the situation objectively, she found it difficult to defend any other conclusion than that it seemed they had spent the evening…flirting with each other. And under any other circumstances, she wouldn't hesitate to follow that dynamic to its logical conclusion; to take charge and seduce a man who desired her, if the attraction was mutual.

Her mind still raced with possibilities while she walked the last few steps from the elevator to her door.

She found human behavior to be generally mystifying and difficult to read. But this was familiar territory for her, the age-old dance between a man and a woman. And tonight she had been just a woman reacting to a man, and watching a man react to her. Except she wasn't just a woman, and he wasn't just a man; this was Booth. God, this was confusing.

He leaned casually on the doorframe as she fished her key out of her purse and fumbled with it briefly before inserting it into the richly decorated paneled door.

"Temperance?"

Booth could be about as subtle as a train wreck sometimes.

They just had a wonderful evening, content and rosy from delicious food and wine, and stars, enjoyed each other's company far beyond what normal work colleagues were expected to and to top all the fun they were in a foreign country—Italy, no less—in an atmosphere that under any other circumstances would be construed as downright…romantic.

So why did Booth have to go and stand so close behind her, lingering by her door instead of heading straight to his own and using her goddamn first name?

Closing her eyes, she sent up a silent rebuke: _Don't call me that after the evening we just had. Don't call me that with your breath on my neck, your body inches from mine. Because if you open _that_ door, I'm afraid I'm gonna fall right through it._

"Thank you. For excellent food and excellent company. I had a great time tonight."

He lightly touched her wrist and waited for her to turn around.

She faced him with her eyes closed, and her lips parted on the smallest sigh. When her eyes blinked open she had no idea if what was going through her mind showed in her face, her eyes.

He searched her face for a eternity, as if to read her mind, to help him decide whether he was actually going to do what she thought he wanted to do.

_Only he wanted to? _

Then there was no more time to contemplate whether he was alone in that desire, because he leaned forward, their faces drawing ever nearer. The air in her chest refused to move.

Just as she was about to close her eyes and expect to feel the pressure of his lips against hers, he bent to the side and pressed a kiss on the sensitive skin next to her ear.

Her heart sank. First because of the disappointment at his last-minute detour. And then again because of the realization what that disappointment undeniably meant.

_._

_TBC_


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** The Italian Reverie 8/9

**Spoilers/Timeline: **set in early season 3, not long after Mummy in the Maze

**Genre: **Romance/UST

**Summary: **At the end of a case in Italy, Booth and Brennan decide that for one evening, they should make the most of what the country has to offer. Chapter 8: in which the inevitable question gets answered.

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**Chapter 8  
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**Comizi d'Amore  
**

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_Previously:_

Just as she was about to close her eyes and expect to feel the pressure of his lips against hers, he bent to the side and pressed a kiss on the sensitive skin next to her ear.

Her heart sank. First because of the disappointment at his last-minute detour. And then again because of the realization what that disappointment undeniably meant.

***

The moment seemed frozen in time.

Gradually she began realizing that it actually was. She'd been so wrapped up in these thoughts that she hadn't noticed that he still didn't pull away after that kiss on her cheek and was hovering very close to her face.

He felt her infinitesimal sigh brush his cheek and went for broke. "If I kiss you now, I bet you'll kick my ass," he whispered with a lop-sided grin, playfully.

A thread pulled tight in her stomach.

"I…" she began to protest, but swallowed it and went for broke too, continuing, "Well, I suppose there's only one way to find out…"

_Just one kiss. Just to satisfy my curiosity. Not because I need it. I don't need a man. I don't need anyone. I…Alright, that's enough._

Her palm pressed against his chest, where she could feel his heart race with a fever pitch to match her own.

Booth didn't make a flippant remark, for once; not a word. Apparently, he was at a loss for words now that he realized they were actually going through with it.

The kiss began slowly, just the barest brushing of his lips against hers. She added the slightest pressure to counter his, and then her natural curiosity did the rest.

Here she was. In Italy. Kissing Booth. A perfect kiss. One of those sweet, soft, slow, delicious kisses that could last for three days.

He held her head, his fingers splayed around her ear, while he ran the other hand gently up her arm with a feathery touch, and a shiver raced up her spine. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by the desperate desire to be even closer, to submerge herself completely in the rising wave of passion.

It would be easy, so easy, to open her mouth and then her door and then her bed and then her body to him.

But this was so overwhelming already. Just this simple kiss, no tongue, and this simple touch, had a _devastating_ effect on her, worse than any sexual touch she'd ever received. It betrayed a bottomless tenderness she hadn't been on the receiving end of in her entire adult life. And it made her feel more weightless, witless, breathless than she could handle.

Inviting Booth into her bed would be bigger, somehow. Bigger than just sex. Bigger than she was ready to understand - or control.

Already the tethers of her control began to fray at the edges. And no matter how much she trusted the man fastened to her mouth like his life depended on it, that prospect filled her with stark terror.

And that clinched it.

Even though she was still at a loss what the reasons were, and too distracted to contemplate them right now, the rising panic at her realization was enough to make her break the kiss while she still could. While she was still somewhat in control of her faculties.

When she pulled back a little her lips still reached out to maintain the connection, like disobedient children refusing to heed the order to put a treasured toy away. When finally they had no choice but to relent a tiny string of saliva bravely persevered, to bridge the gap between their mouths just a fraction longer.

When even that connection had been severed she felt suddenly exhausted, dizzy, and weak-kneed and nauseous, and stumbled backwards until her back hit the door.

She let out a long shuddery breath with her eyes closed, willing the ceiling to stop spinning.

_Strange,_ she thought, _how can I be drunk again?_

She was able to calculate in a heartbeat how much alcohol she'd consumed and how much had already been metabolized by time and their walk since the last glass of wine. She was sure she'd walked into the hotel well on her way to being sober again.

_Except sober people wouldn't let their work partner kiss them, and kiss them back with such enthusiasm. Would they?_

And she actually wanted him to kiss her, for god's sake.

What the _hell_ was wrong with her?

And how much had she ruined by doing this? By being so stupid and out of control. How terrible was the damage?

She opened her eyes and sought his, with some trepidation. But she had to know how bad this was, and the only way to know was to turn to Booth.

She was not met with the reproach she had been expecting.

He was smiling at her. He looked at her from under hooded eyelids and smiled – a slow, sexy, gorgeous smile – the embers of arousal still visible.

"I….that was…phew…erm…."

His smile grew wider during her floundering for words.

She kept rubbing her lips together over and over, recapturing the feel of his lips there. She almost broke out in a nervous fit of laughter when as she became aware of how she must look - standing pressed up against the door with red, swollen lips, flushed face, still reeling from the shock of kissing Booth. But on the heels of that she realized the gravity of the situation.

That the facetious, brazen G-man had reduced her usually unflappable self to a stuttering, stupefied puddle of Jell-O with nothing more than a kiss was no more than an annoyance compared to the real cataclysm; she was painfully aware that this incident could pose a significant problem for their partnership.

She took a deep, steadying breath and tried for coherence this time.

"Booth, I can't escape the assessment that if we want to maintain any kind of professionally responsible relationship as partners, it is vital that I don't wait another second to enter this hotel room…alone."

He closed his eyes for a moment. His hands dropped from her shoulders to her wrists as he pushed out a long, slow breath.

When his eyes found hers again there was no mistaking what she saw there. Longing. And regret.

Her heart sank for the third time.

"Temperance…"

She opened her mouth, but he sensed his error before she could correct him, and started again with the epithet that marked a return to their professional personas. "Bones, as much as it pains me, I think you're right."

Relief flooded her when she realized that she had been right to see regret in his eyes, but not regret for the kiss itself. She had seen the regret that it had to _end _there. A strange comfort.

She swallowed thickly and nodded her understanding.

When she turned to open the door he gave the smallest tug on her wrists.

She swiveled back and cast wide, questioning eyes up at him.

Holding her eyes, he gave her a smoldering look as he raised the wrists he was still encircling up to his mouth, and pressed a soft kiss on the back of each hand.

"I know your door will be open someday. I can wait."

For once, the different layers of his statement were not on lost on her. It took all her remaining willpower not to twist her hands around so she could grab his wrists and yank him inside the room to do everything to him she had just promised herself she wouldn't do.

"Goodnight, Bones," he whispered as he released her.

"Goodnight," she whispered back, nonplussed.

She closed the door behind her with a soft snick and didn't bother to turn on the light.

Once inside the room, she stumbled to the bed and let herself drop backwards onto it. She stared at the ceiling with her fingers registering the erratic pulse in her neck.

They had crossed the line. They had danced around it all evening, toed it a few times, but this? This was definitely physical. The evidence of attraction – racing heart, flushed face, pink earlobes and a flare of heat in her stomach – was irrefutable; not even she could rationalize it away.

By now the circumstances that had led to it were irrelevant, because whatever the antecedents of this kiss, that didn't alter the fact that it effectively changed them. It landed them smack dab on the other side of that line, unsure if they could retreat back to the safer side.

And she couldn't help but feel she got a little more than she bargained for.

_._

_TBC_


	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** The Italian Reverie 9/9

**Spoilers/Timeline: **set in early season 3, not long after Mummy in the Maze

**Genre: **Romance/UST

**Summary: **At the end of a case in Italy, Booth and Brennan decide that for one evening, they should make the most of what the country has to offer. Chapter 9, epilogue: returning to reality.

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Chapter 9  
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**Ieri, oggi e domani**

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The knock came unexpectedly, and less than welcome, just before 8 PM.

_Booth? _she wondered in a panic. If he was at her door, god only knew what could come of that.

She steeled herself before she set course from the bedroom to her entrance and held her breath while she opened the door, only to find Angela at her doorstep.

Brennan's sigh of relief earned her a puzzled look from Angela.

"I was on my way home from the lab, and I couldn't wait to hear all about your trip to Italy so I thought I'd stop by," Angela explained, bemused.

"If you don't mind hearing about it while I unpack, come on in." She relaxed further and added an encouraging smile.

They talked while they walked, on the way to the bedroom.

"Did you just get in?"

"Less than a half hour ago."

"You must be tired," Angela said sympathetically.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "God, I'm so tired I'm surprised I don't fall asleep on my feet. But I really want to unpack my suitcase first, because otherwise everything will be in there the whole day while I'm at the lab and it will wrinkle even more."

Angela followed her into the bedroom.

Brennan started hanging a suit jacket on a coat hanger and mentioned, "Oh, I brought you something from Italy. It's at the bottom of the suitcase, wrapped in glossy blue wrapping paper, go ahead and dig it out."

"You didn't have to do that," Angela said. But she was clearly pleased and touched by the thoughtful gesture, not to mention her childlike excitement at getting to unwrap a present.

Brennan smiled from the closet. "I also got something great for Hodgins. I hope he'll like it. I pulled some strings in Italy and the Jeffersonian gets a really rare bug fossilized in amber on loan for a month so Hodgins can study it to his heart's content."

"Really? That is so sweet of you!"

While Brennan shrugged off the compliment – seeing nothing 'sweet' about making arrangements involving a scientific specimen – Angela suddenly spied the dress folded on top of the stack in the suitcase. Her mouth hung slightly agape when Brennan lifted it out to hang it up as well.

"You brought _that_ dress on a business trip?"

"No. I bought it in Italy." She grinned and held it in front of her, holding out the gorgeous fabric to show it off. "You like it?"

"Hell, yes!"

She leaned in to Brennan conspiratorially. "Did you _wear it_ in Italy?"

_Yes. I also came within an inch of letting Booth take it off of me in Italy._

Damn the direct question, because now lying was out. "I did, actually." She tried to make it sound nonchalant, unsure if she was pulling it off.

"Really?" Angela asked with interest, not expecting that answer. She grinned impishly. "So you hooked up with a hot Italian guy, or what?"

She really wasn't quite ready to share the events to which that dress had been the catalyst until she had explored, organized and analyzed her own thoughts on the subject. Perhaps she could deflect Angela's attention away from it as a pre-emptive tactical maneuver against further direct inquiry.

She rolled her eyes. "Did I mention we were on a case, and I was working on it, day and night?"

"Yet you still found time to wear it at some point," Angela argued.

_So much for the deflective strategy._

She tensed, not wanting to get volunteer too much information. Angela was like a dog with a bone, and every piece of information she released, prompted new questions instead of satisfying Angela's curiosity.

"Not until last night." An honest if still evasive answer.

Angela's impatience grew. "Well, that didn't clear up_ anything_. Don't leave me hanging here. I want details," she pressed.

"Nothing spectacular, just dinner with Booth." She said it with all the nonchalance of explaining that she'd done some grocery shopping.

Angela gaped at her, processing what this meant. "You and Booth went on a _date_? In Italy? Sweetie, that _is_ spectacularly romantic!"

Angela's loud voice made her a little uneasy. Clearly – clearly – she was attributing too much meaning to this event.

The Look of Denial crossed her face. "Sharing a meal with a colleague does not make a date, Angela."

_Did that still apply when you didn't share the bill, either?_

"You got dressed up, didn't you?" Angela motioned to the dress.

She was a little alarmed by Angela's trying to use _logic_ on her; that was so unlike her. The uneasy feeling grew.

"I didn't want to wear work clothes on my night off," she replied reasonably.

"Did he pick you up?"

"Only because our rooms were next door to each other and he was ready first," she countered, making an effort to maintain a cool appearance.

The questions were volleyed in rapid-fire succession and Brennan was starting to fear that her evening with Booth was going to prove difficult to explain away to Angela.

"Was it a practical place to grab a quick bite to eat or a really nice restaurant?"

Brennan's Eyebrow was met with Angela's Look of Vindication.

"What?" Brennan exclaimed defensively, "I can't help it if I have good taste."

"Were there mostly business people there, or mostly couples?"

"I don't know. I wasn't paying that much attention," she replied somewhat evasively, her eyes shifting away.

When she had restored enough confidence to face Angela again, she saw a lascivious grin plastered on her face. "I bet you weren't…"

_Damn, walked right into that one…_

"Did you order a bottle of wine?" Angela's third-degree continued.

_Or two…_

She rolled her eyes. "Of course we did! It was Italy. Good food and good wine belong together for a complete culinary experience." She straightened her back and put her hands on her hips, and challenged, "I have no intention of apologizing for it."

"I never said you should." Another grin.

_Dammit. _Nil-two for the home team.

"Had dessert?"

"Thought I might as well." It sounded a little petulant.

"What was it?" A foreboding question.

"Tiramisu."

Angela huffed triumphantly. "Which we all know is universal date code talk for 'take me now'!"

_Which could very well have something to do with the fact that it _literally_ means 'pick me up'…_

"It is not!" Brennan exclaimed, appalled at the suggestion.

Angela looked down her nose at her. "You may have – or feign – ignorance on a lot of social concepts, Sweetie, but this is not one of them. You're just going to have to accept the fact that you and Booth went on a date," Angela insisted.

Brennan balled her hands and let out a frustrated groan. "No! You haven't been listening!"

"I'm only doing this because you're ever the scientist – I just delivered proof undeniable. It. Was. A. Date," Angela rendered verdict triumphantly.

"If he kissed you goodnight, could be love," she teased, smiling.

Brennan ducked her head in a reflex and realized far too late that a denial would be pointless by now because her first reaction had been so telling.

Yes, in a moment of shared weakness, he had kissed her and she kissed back, and she thought she might never forget the extraordinary feel and taste of it.

Thankfully, there was no high-pitched squealing, flailing, squeeing, screaming, applause or any other kind of ridiculous and immature response from the artist, which she half-heartedly expected.

Instead, she rose up from the bed and gave her a beaming smile and a quick hug.

"What was that for?"

"I'm so proud of you."

After Angela had released her, Brennan scrunched her nose at Angela in confusion. "You're proud of me for kissing a man?"

"Yes, that too. I mean no. I mean, well, yes, actually. This man in particular."

Angela breathed a dramatic sigh and held her hand to her heart with her eyes turned heavenward. "Oh! One of these days…"

"No. No, Ange. We're-"

"Just partners," she singsonged. "Yes, we know that little ditty by now. It doesn't become true just because you repeat it often enough, you know. You and Booth really are hot, sweaty sex waiting to happen."

_And love_, Angela added mentally, but she was pushing it already; if she were to add that, she'd be out on her ear before she could finish the sentence.

"But the sweaty sex didn't happen?" she asked for confirmation.

Brennan shook her head and sheepishly relayed that, even after a bone-melting kiss, she had decided to let it end there, and had sent him to his own room.

Then she deflated like a balloon and dropped down on the bed.

Brennan was clearly conflicted, so it was time for a reprieve, Angela decided; a light-hearted joke to help her relax. She grinned wickedly as she sat down next to her, nudging her in the side. "Who knew you could be such a tease, Temperance Brennan?"

Brennan's half-smile collapsed after half a second. She grew serious and nervously fingered the baggage label on her suitcase.

She weighed her next words carefully before she decided to share the confession, then turned to Angela again and let her see the naked honesty and fearfulness in her eyes.

"If I had let him in, everything would have changed. And I don't think I'm ready for everything to change."

Angela listened to the confession without showing surprise, as if she'd long known it, and had merely been waiting for her to reach the same conclusion.

"Yet?" Angela arched one eyebrow.

A spontaneous admission tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop it; must be the fatigue. "I don't know. Obviously there's _something_ there. But until I can figure out what it is and what to do with it…"

Angela cocked her head. "Do we need to go over the 'don't think too much' speech again?"

The one that ended with 'you have other organs that give you much more pleasure'; she remembered that.

But there was a time for feeling and a time for thinking.

"Well, we'll always have Italy," she sighed ruefully.

_._

_Fin._

(But everything happens eventually of course ;-p)

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_Note:__ thanks to SSJL for letting me use a variation on an exchange between Angela and Brennan from her iconic multi-chap "Talk To Me". Almost all the chapter titles in this story are the titles of classic Italian movies._

_Note 2: __to those who had been hoping that she'd change her mind and there would be consummation action going on in the final chapter after all, I'm sorry - this story just wouldn't go any other way; there will be smut some other time (I'm still chewing on the idea of a sequel to this, but there are so many stories begging to be written that I can't make any promises). Thank you for reading a story that has been a joy for me to write in all its old-fashioned romantic glory._


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